


His Center, Tilting

by afteriwake



Series: nongentorum [75]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry Molly Hooper, Angst and Feels, Bittersweet Ending, Confused Sherlock, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, First argument, Hospitals, Injured Sherlock, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, POV Sherlock Holmes, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Scared Sherlock, Sherlock Takes Risks, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017, crying Molly, reckless Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 07:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10939485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: When Sherlock gets an injury during a case, he finds he stands to lose more than he expected.





	His Center, Tilting

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for Day 5 of Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017 (" _First argument_ ") from a prompt (" _Patching up a wound_ ") on [this list](http://penaltywaltz.tumblr.com/post/137274126169/nonsexual-acts-of-intimacy-select-from-the).

“I swear it won’t happen again.”

He didn’t understand why she was so tense. It wasn’t a life-threatening injury, to be honest. It just _barely_ was deep enough to need stitches, and just three. But he could see Molly nearly vibrating with irritation or anger or some sort of not pleasant emotion just beneath the surface of her somewhat calm demeanor. He really should pummel Lestrade for calling her. How he knew they were...something...he would never know. John probably lagged.

He should pummel him, too, when his arm felt better.

If Molly didn’t break both it and his legs and possibly his kneecaps first.

When the doctor at the A & E he’d been dragged to was done, she shoved the clean clothes she’d brought for him and closed the curtain, cutting her off from him. He hadn’t needed to be brought there at all. A few scrapes, a few bumps, though none on the head, one measly cut on the arm and what like nine hundred million aching muscles from the fall down the flight of stairs when the suspect slipped, bringing them both down, but he’d survived worse. The scars on his back he’d feel her trace absently when they were lying next to each other showed that. Didn’t she see that? Didn’t she know? He could survive quite a bit. He wasn’t invincible, but he was smart. He could survive almost anything.

When he’d changed into the T-shirt and loose fitting pants he pulled back the curtain but didn’t see her. He had no idea where she was, actually, and for the first time that night he felt true, unadulterated panic course through him. 

Molly.

He couldn’t survive losing Molly.

He was about to dial his brother on his mobile and beg him to find her, wherever she might be when he heard a soft sobbing in a darkened corner where there were no people, just some unused equipment. He went there and sitting on her arse with her knees pulled to her chest and her forehead on her knees was Molly, crying. How had he hurt her? What had he done? He squatted down in front of her and put his hands on her arms but she pushed him away. He blinked at that. “Molly?”

“You swear it won’t happen again but it will. I know it will,” she said, looking up at him with a tear-streaked face. “You are so...so thoughtless, Sherlock! You only care about the thrill of the chase, even now! Even after Mary’s gone, even after everything. I thought you had changed, but...” She shook her head. “I can’t lose you, Sherlock. If he’d stabbed in the wrong place or slashed at the wrong artery you could have been lost and I would never have gotten to say good-bye.”

He wanted to pull her in his arms and cradle her, comfort her, but he wasn’t sure she would let him. He wasn’t sure what to _do_. He had thought he was being more careful, taking fewer risks, but she was right. He wasn’t really. And it wasn’t fair to those who loved him, those who needed him. After a moment he leaned forward so he was kneeling in front of her, and he rested his forehead on her knees. “I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“I can’t make that choice for you,” she said, and after a moment she ran her fingers through his hair. “But I love you, Sherlock. I won’t watch you recklessly throw your life away. I won’t. I’ll leave you before I do that.”

He nodded, taking a moment to let it all settle in. He could very well lose her because he knew she was serious. She _would_ leave, as she had every right to because she shouldn’t see him do that to himself. “I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay,” he said. “I love you, Molly, more than I can express.”

“I know,” she said quietly. After a moment she leaned forward, resting her cheek against his head. “But I won’t watch you throw your life away doing foolish, stupid things. We both know that both of us deserve a better future than that if we’re to have one together.”

He was quiet for a moment, taking comfort in the fact she’d gotten closer and not pushed him away again, that she was there, and just tried to settle the panic in his mind of how close he had come to losing her calming influence in his life. Yes, he wanted her, and yes, he needed her as well, but it was more than that. He loved her, and because he loved her he wanted what was best for her, eve if that meant it wasn’t being around him until he was the best he could be for her. But he hoped he could become better for her while she was there. “Please consider staying,” he said.

“I will,” she said with a slight nod. “I promise.”

He felt the tightness inside him ease and while he knew this was far from the only argument they would have about this, merely the first, he hoped the others would be more akin to disagreements and lead to things getting better, not worse. Because without Molly, he feared what little would be left of his future would be rather bleak.


End file.
